


The Path From Me To You

by Analinea



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Glasses, Love Confession, M/M, a lil bit of angst maybe, lasagnas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 19:03:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10542624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Analinea/pseuds/Analinea
Summary: Scott thinks that everything in his life worked perfectly to bring him here. It might not seem much to someone else, but he's come to a good, settled point in his life despite the loss and the pain in his past.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to be completely honest with you guys : I'm so bad at writing fluff that I rewrote the beginning of this 5 fucking times before I had something that worked, finished it, went back to it to change the ending, changed the title, and now I'm so sick and tired of this fic (plus I almost got scammed this morning and I might have to deal with the bastard for a while) that I didn't reread it before posting it, which means **there might be typos and stuff**.
> 
> But I promised two fluffy Teen Wolf fics, so here's the first, second coming tomorrow or the day after, and after that back to my beloved angst and some hurt/comfort!  
> Also, I signed up for two events so keep an eye out for that too!

Scott thinks that everything in his life worked perfectly to bring him here. It might not seem much to someone else, but he's come to a good, settled point in his life despite the loss and the pain in his past.

He's in the right place and the right moment to be ready to face feelings that were there for years and years.

Which leads to him climbing up the outside wall up to the window of Stiles bedroom, take a look inside. Stiles is curled up on his bed on what seems to be homework, his back facing Scott.

Scott hesitates for a second, wondering if he should come back another time maybe: sleep time has become sacred within the Pack. But he feels like if he leaves now, he will never say what he needs to so he slides the window open quietly, resolute to wait for Stiles to wake up.

Scott rounds up the bed, intending to cover Stiles up a little and maybe get some notebooks out of the way. Stiles will wake up soon anyway if the smell of food cooking is any indication, but Scott can't help himself in those moments, he needs to take care of Stiles.

He freezes as soon as he's at the right angle to see Stiles face, though, because...

Okay, it's the cutest thing ever, and that's part of the reason for his shock; but mostly he's just deeply surprised. A little hurt, too. Really confused. Maybe even a tiny bit aroused too.

There's a whirlwind of emotions in his head, reaching every part of his body until he can feel his toes tingling. Something so small shouldn't have this effect on him, he thinks, he's more controlled than that.

His eyes probably flashed and he should be _certain_ of it. It shouldn't even have happened in the first place.

But it's just...

Stiles has _glasses_ and it's–

Scott didn't know about them, which is impossible because the two of them tell each other everything; that's for the hurt part. Stiles didn't tell him. Did he think Scott would think less of him because of it? Stiles is human and more prone to be hurt, and he's always fought tooth and nails to prove he was worth as much as the supernatural creatures of his Pack.

Maybe that's the reason he thought he couldn't tell his best friend.

Or Stiles thought it would cause worry?

Probably both.

Anyway, it's also goddamn cute, especially the way the glasses are stilted with the way Stiles' head is resting on a thick book -and that's certainly not comfortable. His hair is also sticking up in every direction, breath even and deep, eyelashes–

Scott shakes himself out of this, he needs to stay focused and damn it, he's not Edward the creeper watching Bella sleep.

As he grabs the covers to at least keep Stiles' feet warm, Scott's eyes are drawn to the way the human's hands are clutching at something. He tilts his head, scrunching his brows in confusion when he sees it's an old shirt. Habits die hard, and Scott can't stop the quick sniff he takes -hovering a safe distance away from the thing, he's still got some dignity left- which makes him realize it's one of _his_ shirt.

They both took the habit to exchange clothes, mostly by accident, until both parents stopped asking where they got this new shirt or where that new shirt went. But this doesn't smell like Stiles wore it, which is unusual.

Scott figures it's not that important anyway, so once he's done with getting Stiles more comfortable he goes down in the kitchen to wait for Stiles to wake up or save the lasagnas if he doesn't.

The timer says there's twenty minutes left so he settles in to wait. He thinks about what he came here to say, what he discovered instead, and wonders if he'll have the time and courage to tell his piece tonight now that there's been a new development.

 

He comes back to himself with a jerk when Stiles' alarm rings upstairs, realizing then that he unconsciously kept listening to Stiles' breathing and heartbeat. The way both accelerate tells Scott that Stiles has probably jumped up when This Is How It Goes Down started playing.

The choice of music makes Scott smile, because it reminds him that Stiles loves P!nk, something people probably wouldn't believe, but the way they both went from resting to alarmed in less than a second reminds him that their lifestyle is not the most quiet.

It happens more and more lately, this kind of nostalgia, the happy memories mixed up with a faint sadness from all that happened.

He feels like an old man, so he never tells anything to avoid being teased to death about it.

He hears Stiles get up and stumble, the rhythm of his steps as familiar as the distinctive scent of his house. Scott never knew Stiles' mother, but sometimes he thinks he can perceive a familiar yet strange smell in the house and he wonders if that's hers.

He feels strangely connected to her, and he never told anything to Stiles but he went to visit her grave alone once. Because he'll never get to trade stories about the time he didn't share with Stiles and the time she didn't get to witness herself, he figured he could at least tell her about his feelings for her son. And then practice what he would say to Stiles.

It feels way more important than glasses, but they're now an obstacle that Scott feels he needs to step over to get to the hard bit.

Like a level before the final boss.

Just...one that wasn't supposed to be there. Maybe a way to delay the possibility of rejection.

Stiles appears in the doorway to the kitchen and doesn't even seem surprised to see Scott. They're too used to each other's presence in each other's home; and also Scott realizes he was quietly singing to himself.

He stops, sees Stiles smiling for a second before he freezes, one hand coming up as if to verify that– and yep, glasses are still on.

There's this play-it-off look on Stiles' face now and Scott thinks that no, he won't get off this one easy.

Stiles shrugs and grins and walks up to the oven which starts bipping on cue, and he opens his mouth just as he opens the door like he wants to make a joke to avoid the confrontation he knows is coming. Instead, he jumps back with a yelp and a shouted “Fuck!”

Scott is halfway out of his chair in concern but Stiles turns around and waves around his face to dissipate the steam coming from the oven and Scott can see what got him so annoyed: the glasses are entirely fogged out.

He can't help the snort that turns into full body laugh when Stiles tries to glare in his direction through the fog.

Stiles' shoulders drop and he chuckles, takes his glasses off to wipe them with the hem of his shirt before turning back to get the lasagnas out. They both quickly calm down.

“It's not–” Stiles starts at the same time as Scott says, “Why didn't you–”

In the silence that follows, Scott is the one to start again because Stiles is smart enough to know that he owes Scott here. And Scott doesn't take any of his shit, hasn't in a long time. Even without werewolf hearing he knows Stiles' tells, not only for lying but also when he's anxious or happy or hasn't taken his Adderall this morning.

“How long?” Scott asks. He tries his best not to let the hurt show in his voice because he doesn't want to guilt Stiles into telling him everything, but some must show if the look on Stiles' face is anything to go by.

“I– since...,” Stiles starts, and Scott can see him considering a lie in the shift of his eyes, then dropping the idea when his hands stop fidgeting. “Since after Eichen House with Lydia,” he says.

It takes Scott a second, the hospital's name always bringing memories of the Nogitsune first, words that Scott will never forget ( _make sure I never get out_ ). But then he remembers that the night of the party when he almost got killed by _music,_ Stiles and Lydia were trying to find clues at Eichen House and got tied up and almost killed by a crazy orderly.

Scott remembers his mom telling him Stiles had a mild concussion that got him a trip to the hospital, but by that time Stiles was already out and shit kept happening, so he never really asked about it.

“When you got concussed?” he still asks to be sure. Stiles tenses and his heartbeat quickens slightly before he reigns it in. Scott narrows his eyes and tilts his head. The move doesn't escape Stiles' notice but he stays silent.

“Stiles,” Scott prompts him, and Stiles looks down, glasses slightlysliding down. He pushes them back up before turning his head to the side to avoid Scott's gaze.

“Yeah, um, they did some tests when I told them my vision was a bit fuzzy. They said it was normal after this kind of injury, but even with the optometrist it didn't entirely got better.”

“You went to see– but when?”

The silence then means that the answer wouldn't be one that Scott would like. “You staying for dinner?” Stiles inquires instead, prodding his lasagnas with a fork and letting out a contented hum. Scott stomach grumbles and he sighs.

“Yes. Why didn't it get better, Stiles?”

“Well, funny story is that I learned then that I actually needed glasses before that, I just never realized until I put the glasses on and saw in HD again,” Stiles waves his fork around with false cheer. When Scott says nothing, Stiles leans his back against the counter and bites his lower lip. “I, uh...they said it was residual trauma from untreated concussions.”

Scott closes his eyes, because he knows what it means. It can't be from before high school because he has a mental list of all the trouble they both got into and the consequences of it -including Stiles' broken toe that still cracks when it rains, something he reminds Scott of every time it fucking rains because that one incident had been on Scott.

It also can't be from Lacrosse because for all his eccentricity, coach would never let something like that slide.

It can only be from werewolf business.

“What happened?” Scott asks in a quiet voice. For a moment, Stiles stays right where and how he is, but two seconds later he pushes away from the counter, looks right into Scott's eyes.

“Why does it matter, Scott?” his fists are clenched but his tone is more defeated and tired than angry.

“Stiles...,” Scott answers softly, and Stiles deflates. He sits down across Scott, eyes fixed on his hands.

“Why does it matter that much? We all get hurt, it's nothing compared to what–”

“But we _heal_!” Scott interrupts, “Whatever happens to us it never lasts!”

“Oh, so what are you saying? That I'm weaker than you guys? That even Lydia heals faster and better than me? Because I know, okay?”

“No, Stiles, fuck, it's just– it's not fair, okay? You'll have...” he gestures vaguely in Stiles' direction, “glasses for the rest of your life because of it, and it's not fair. I just– I wish you wouldn't have to...I wish you didn't need this. That's all.”

“Scott.” Stiles voice is lower suddenly, and Scott realizes he stopped looking at him to stare at the clock behind Stiles. When he looks at his best friend again, he sees something there that he wishes he could unsee. Something like pity. “Scott, I won't always...I've accepted that I might leave first.”

“But–”

“Not only since you became a werewolf. Since my mom died. I realized that sometimes you don't have a choice. And I asked Peter how old he was once, you know what he said? That they don't count years like humans do. Scott, I–” Stiles huffed in frustration, rubbing his forehead, “I'm probably gonna age faster than you all.”

He looks back up at Scott with this serious face he rarely shows, lips pinched and slight nod. The hard-truths face. Scott wonders for a second if this is supposed to be more difficult to accept for Stiles or for himself.

“But I love you,” Scott whispers. When he realizes what he's said and the plaintive tone he used, his eyes widen. He didn't want to say it like that. Didn't mean to make it a demand.

Stiles' head jerks back, mouth hanging open. “W– What?” Scott can hear both their hearts racing, feel his own blush.

“Shit,” is all he manages to get out of his mouth, “It's not how I wanted...” he trails off, studying Stiles' face for any trace of disgust or rejection. He finds none. Just surprise.

“You mean it?” Stiles asks, “You love _love_ me?”

Scott can't imagine the desperation in the words. Love and hope can make you see things that aren't there sometimes, but he knows Stiles enough. He cataloged all of his expressions and scents and sounds.

“I...I mean, yeah. Yeah I do.” He waits. Stiles seems to look for a lie.

“You...do,” is all he says after a while and Scott worries he's broken Stiles.

Stiles looks up at the ceiling, hands on his hips, then turns his back on Scott for a second before he faces him again, determination set on his face.

“Scott,” he says, wets his lips before continuing in a small voice, like he's still afraid despite Scott's confession. “Me too.”

Scott's not prepared, so he blacks out for a second under the weight of his relief and happiness. “I love you too,” Stiles clarifies. “Come on, let's go upstairs,” he smiles.

Scott comes back to himself. He feels stupid like he hasn't in ages. Stiles' eyes search both of Scott's when he extends his hand.

Scott takes it, feeling the contact all the way to his brain like needles in his nerves, but in a very good way. Because Stiles loves him too. Scott grins, ducks his head when he feels a blush spread on his cheeks. Stile chuckles and leads him upstairs.

There a joke about moving too fast ready to be made but it's stuck in Scott's throat and threatens to choke him. He swallows around it, focuses on the feeling of Stiles skin against his own. Their hands are slipping with how much they're both sweating. They're post-confession nervous, and it makes Scott feels like he's thirteen and human and naive again.

He has a second to wonder why they didn't stay in the kitchen but the answer comes to him when he instantly relaxes after entering Stiles' bedroom. It's a safe place for both of them.

Stiles turns to him without letting go of Scott's hand, and he tugs on it so they can be closer. Way more close than they've ever been, or maybe it's just because Scott never had the promise of anything coming with this kind of proximity before.

Scott laughs and teasingly makes Stiles back up until they fall on his bed, Scott on top, sharing a breath and panting like they just ran a marathon. Scott takes both of Stiles' hands as he looks him straight in the eye through the glasses that frame Stiles' amber irises perfectly and pins him on the mattress. He can see the joke about to leave Stiles' mouth.

He catches it with his own.

The kiss is sloppy and far from perfect. Scott's cheekbone keep hitting the black frame of the glasses. It's still the best thing in the world. When Scott raises his head again to catch his breath, elbows supporting him on either side of Stiles' head, he catches sight of the shirt from earlier. His shirt.

“What's that?” he asks because it's still intriguing.

Stiles tilts his head to the side to see what Scott's looking at, and then blush adorably. He doesn't look back when he starts speaking again. “It, uh...it's stupid, okay, so don't laugh but um...I can't sleep without...It smells like you.”

He turns to Scott then, ready for mockery. Scott feels his mouth open in the biggest smile. The feeling in his heart is even better than Stiles saying he loves him back because it's some kind of proof, some kind of physical manifestation of Stiles' love, and it shows that this love has been there for some time now.

“What are you happy about? I literally steal your shirts and wash them to give them back when they don't smell anymore, I _smuggle_ your _shirts_ , Scott! It's not funny!” Stiles protests when Scott starts laughing in his neck, burrowing his nose right there where Stiles' scent is so strong.

Stiles starts laughing too then, first because it really tickles, but then just because he's happy. They're both so happy.

Scott forgot, actually. Human noses are nothing like werewolf noses, the sense of smell a hundred times less powerful, but he forgot that it's not completely nonexistent either. That it can bring comfort and memories.

He brings comfort to Stiles.

It's like something has slotted in place, something that was slightly off this whole time.

Scott pushes himself half up again so he can look at Stiles, flushed from the emotions and the laughing, glasses starting to tilt to the side. Stiles sobers up to look back, something so beautiful in his eyes. Love, Scott thinks.

Stiles' lips part, tongue darting out to lick at the lower one.

Scott smiles. Then bends down again to capture it, swallow Stiles' smile and joy.

Time stands still. Yes, Scott thinks. Everything worked perfectly to bring him here.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So?  
> After giving kudos, consider taking 0.5 more seconds to leave even the tiniest comment (you can even copy/paste this: <3 ; or alternatively if you didn't like it that much, this: :3 ; or alternatively, if you still didn't like it that much, this: :) ) because it took me fucking forever to write this half-good fluff!
> 
> See you in the next fic (｡-_-｡ )人( ｡-_-｡)


End file.
